Almost… almost… now!

When the creature was standing almost directly on the track, Claire punched the button – and nothing hap-pened, nothing at all. Shit! She fumbled for the power switch again, maybe she hadn't turned it on – and she saw what was on the little readout screen, and groaned aloud. The simple in– structions read, "Charging for load – wait for tone."

Good God, how long will that be?

The creature was still twenty feet away, walking al– most directly along the track. She might not get a better shot at it, because another blow could very well mean her death, but if she stayed where she was and the crea– ture got to her before the platform was charged, she'd be trapped between the wall and the storage crates. It would bludgeon her into pulp against the cockpit door.

Better to run for it Better to stay put.

Claire hesitated a touch too long, and the creature was in motion again. It swept toward her like a natural disas– ter and it was too late, not even tune to turn around and flee into the cockpit…

ping!

… and it brought its spiked left hand down just as Claire slammed the switch, her eyes squeezed closed, sure that the world was about to disappear in a blizzard of pain…… as the creature shot away from her, roaring, the empty crates lifting it off its feet, powering it away. Be– fore she could begin to accept that the plan was work-ing, the creature used one of its incredible bursts of speed and got in front of the barreling container, just enough to get some leverage, to push against it -

–but Claire didn't wait to see which force was greater. She opened fire again, two, three bullets hitting it in the head, bouncing harmlessly off its armored skull, but distracting it, too. The creature struggled an-other half second and then it and the two crates were gone, plunging into the dusky sky. Claire stared out at the passing stream of atmosphere for a time, knowing she should feel limp with relief, that she'd killed the monster, that she'd survived another Umbrella disaster, that they were finally, finally safe… but she was simply wrung out, any possibility for strong emotion having flown out the back along with Mr. X's big brother. "Please, let it be over," she said softly, and then turned and opened the door back into the cockpit. As she hopped the two steps up to the pilot area, Steve glanced back her, frowning. "What happened? Is everything okay?"

Claire nodded, flopping down in the seat next to him, absolutely beat. "Yeah. Score one more for the good guys. Oh, the rear cargo hatch is gone."Are you kidding?" Steve asked. "Nope," Claire said, and yawned widely, suddenlyoverwhelmed with fatigue. "Hey, I'm going to rest my eyes for a minute. If I fall asleep, wake me up in five, okay?"Sure," Steve said, still looking confused. "The hatch is gone?"

Claire didn't answer him, the dark already rushing up to claim her, her body melting into the seat…… and then Steve was shaking her, repeating her name over and over again.

"Claire! Claire!" "Yeah," she mumbled, sure she hadn't slept as she cracked her eyes open, wondering why Steve would want to torture her like this – until she saw his expres-sion, and a bolt of alarm jolted her awake. "What, what is it?" she asked, sitting up straight. Steve looked really worried. "Like a minute ago, we changed direction and then the controls suddenly locked down," he said. "I don't know what it is, there's no radio but everything else is still working fine – except I can't steer, or alter altitude or speed. It's like it's stuck on autopilot."

Before she could say a word, there was a crackling static sound from a small video monitor mounted close to the ceiling of the cockpit, one Claire hadn't noticed be– fore. Flickering distortion lines spread out across the screen, but the picture, when it came in, was clear enough.

Alfred!

He was also flying, it seemed, belted into the front seat of a two-man fighter jet, or something similar. He still had smears of makeup on his face, his eyes rimmed in black, and when he spoke, it was in Alexia's voice. "My apologies," he purred, "but I can't let you escape now. It seems you've eluded another of my playthings -

–naughty, naughty." "Cross-dressing freak," Steve snapped, but Alfred ei-ther didn't hear him or didn't care. "Enjoy the ride," Alfred said, giggling, and with a final buzz of static, the screen went blank. Claire stared at Steve, who stared back helplessly, and then they both looked out over the sea of clouds, watch– ing silently as the first shafts of sunlight broke through. Steve was dreaming about his father when he started awake suddenly, afraid for some reason, the dream slip– ping away even as he remembered where he was. Claire made a soft, sleepy sound in the back of her throat and nuzzled closer, her head against his left shoulder, her breath warm against his chest. Oh, Steve thought, afraid to move, not wanting to wake her up. They'd fallen asleep side-by-side leaning against the cockpit wall, and had apparently moved closer together at some point. He had no idea what time it was, or how long they'd slept, but they were still in the air, muted sunlight still coming in through the windows. They'd talked for a while after Alfred had taken con– trol of the plane, but not about what they were going to do at the end of their hijacked ride. Claire had remarked that since they couldn't do anything about it, there was no point in worrying. Instead, they'd eaten – Claire had nabbed a few packs of vending machine nuts, for which Steve would be eternally grateful – and done their best to wash up using a little of the bottled water, and then talked. Really talked. She'd told him about going to Raccoon City to find Chris, and everything that had happened there and what she knew about Umbrella and Trent the spy-guy… and she'd told him a lot of other stuff, too. She was in col– lege, and two years older than him, and she rode a mo– torcycle but was probably going to give it up because of how dangerous it was. She liked to dance so she liked dance music, but she also liked grange, and she thought politics were mostly boring, and cheeseburgers were her favorite food. She was totally, incredibly cool, the coolest girl he'd ever met – and even better, she'd actu– ally been interested in what he had to say. She'd laughed at a lot of his jokes, and thought it was cool that he ran track, and when he'd talked some about his parents, she'd listened without getting all pushy.

And she's so smart, and beautiful…

He looked down at her, at her tousled hair and long lashes, his heart pounding even though he was trying to relax. She moved again, shifting in her sleep, her head tilting back a little and her slightly parted lips were suddenly close enough for him to kiss, all he had to do was tip his face down a few inches, and he wanted to so bad that he actually started to do it, lowering his mouth toward hers… "Mmmm," she murmured, still totally asleep, and he stopped, pulling back, his heart beating even faster. He totally wanted to but not like that, not if she didn't want him to. He thought she did, but she'd also told him a lit– tle about her friend Leon, too, and he wasn't so sure that they were just friends. Feeling tortured, having her so close but not his, he was relieved when she rolled away from him a few sec– onds later. He stood up, stretching stiff legs, and walked to the front of the plane, wondering if the reserve fuel tank had been tapped yet, the thought of dealing with that crazy Ashford asshole once again drying up the last of his positive feelings. He hoped that Claire would sleep awhile longer, she'd been so tired…… until he saw what was outside, and read the head-ing, and realized that their altitude had dropped consid– erably. The plane was starting to pitch some, bucking, and no wonder. On the map reader next to the compass was an approximate latitude-longitude for their posi– tion.